


Slugabed

by kaeorin



Series: Loki's Lullabies [147]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Morning Cuddles, POV Loki (Marvel), Reader-Insert, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26002660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: For most of his life, Loki had never really been one to linger in bed in the morning. But, then again, for most of his life, he wasn’t permitted to share a bed with you.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Series: Loki's Lullabies [147]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678240
Comments: 10
Kudos: 173





	Slugabed

Growing up, he had never really been much for lying around in bed all day. There was always so much for him to do, to explore. Asgard was not a place that truly encouraged laziness, even in the palace, where large teams of servants were there to take care of the annoying day-to-day sorts of chores. Often, he’d all but leaped out of bed, practically itching to get started on whatever activity was fated to fill the day’s hours. When he was very young, he ran with Thor, and they engaged in battles that lasted entire afternoons. As he grew older, and Thor started to look towards the throne or else towards real battles in other realms, they did sort of grow apart, but Loki still had plenty to do. To read. To practice. In a world so full of possibility, it had always struck him as...perhaps irresponsible to luxuriate for too long in bed.

Until you.

He slept in your bed now, beneath your covers and beside you. Being here was like being surrounded by you. He could just lie there and take it all in. The laundry soap in your sheets: a little artificial but lovely nonetheless. The lingering shampoo and perfume in your hair, clean and light and fresh. The smell of your skin, the clean sweat and warm coziness of you which always made him want to sink his teeth into your tender flesh. Slowly, slowly he was coming to recognize the way his own scent mingled with yours like it was the most natural thing. Like it was okay for him to be here. Like this was his bed too. 

The first morning that he’d awakened to realize that you’d somehow stolen his pillow and clutched it beneath your arm even as you curled your body around him like maybe you couldn’t get enough of him, he’d been so thunderstruck that he hadn’t even considered taking it back again. You wanted him here, and you trusted him here. You let yourself sleep so soundly in his presence, and even with Allspeak, he would never be able to find the right words to tell you what that meant to him. 

Most mornings, he woke up before you did, but he never allowed himself to get out of bed. Instead, he took to watching you. Maybe something nagged at him a little, some quiet voice which told him that it was a little creepy to watch you sleep, but it was easy enough to make it shut up when he reminded himself that you’d willingly and happily put yourself into this position. That was still a little hard for him to understand, but you all but forced him to believe it.

So he watched you sleep. Often, he woke up in the same position: on his back with you curled beside him. Your head always nestled there against his shoulder, your hand curling around his belly. He liked the intimacy of this position. When he was alone, he did not typically sleep on his back like this, with his stomach exposed, but when you were there to shield him, he felt comfortable. This position allowed him to hold you close. He could turn his head ever-so-slightly and kiss the top of your head, and he could pull you even closer with just the slightest amount of pressure against your back. He noticed, one quiet morning, that sometimes you kissed his chest in your sleep, your lips like rose petals on his skin. His heart beat so wildly in his chest that morning that he’d feared he’d wake you up.

But you slept soundly with him, always.

You snored a little. When you were still deeply asleep and far from wakefulness, he could hear a little catch in your breath sometimes. It got a little worse when you were under the weather, like when you spent your waking hours sniffling and coughing. He kept that fact to himself so that he could treasure it quietly and hold it close. If you knew that you snored, regardless of whether you knew how precious it was to him, he knew you’d only feel embarrassed. But you only did it when you slept deeply. It served as a reminder that you felt safe with him. That you were not afraid of him. Every time he realized that, it felt just as groundbreaking and foreign as it had the first time.

Rarely, you turned away from him in your sleep. Early on, that had stung a little. Back then, he was sleeping lightly enough that your movement woke him every time, and he watched you turn your back on him to wrap yourself around your own pillow. The very first time you did it, he’d laid awake for the rest of the night staring at your back with eyes that burned, trying to figure out what he’d done wrong.

The next morning, you were quick to notice that something was wrong. You made it your mission, that day, to figure out what was wrong with him, and you only managed to drag it out of him around bedtime. When he finally relented and told you what you’d done in the night, you’d laughed musically, sweetly, and climbed into his lap so you could hold his face in his hands and pepper it with kisses and assure him over and over again that you adored him, that you couldn’t get enough of him, that he was lovely and perfect and sweet but that you just tended to move a lot in your sleep.

That was certainly true. Some nights, especially when you were stressing over something for work, you seemed to spend more time trying to get comfortable than actually sleeping. Several times now, he’d been jerked awake by your legs kicking out beneath the covers, or your hand swatting him by accident as you flailed. He discovered that he could help you lie still if he turned to press his chest against your back and pulled you in close. If he wrapped his arm around your belly and murmured soft words of love against your ear, it seemed to help you get comfortable. He liked to sleep like that too. He’d fit his knees against yours and bury his nose in your hair and you both would sleep soundly. 

This morning, he woke up holding you close, just as he’d fallen asleep the night before. He stayed still for a long time and listened to you breathe. Before you, he’d never considered treasuring something so small. But now there was no denying the fact that your mere breath was so vital to his happiness. When he couldn’t wait any longer, he did slowly pull himself up a bit, so he could get a better look at your face. You were turned away from the window, so you were shielded from the golden light of morning. Fondness swelled in his chest as he looked at you. Your face was soft. Your lips were plump, and slightly parted, and if only he could know that he wouldn’t disturb you, he longed to swoop in to kiss you. He settled for smoothing your hair away from your face. Your brows furrowed slightly at the contact, like maybe it had tickled, and he chuckled under his breath.

He spoke to you like this. Mostly he kept things light. He’d whisper to your sleeping form about how lovely you were in the morning light. At first he only allowed himself to say things to you that he’d say if you were awake, just in case. Over time, though, your lack of response emboldened him, and he got a little more personal. He told you exactly what you meant to him. He told you what his life was like before you, when he was bitter and lonely and mean. He told you that waking beside you made it seem worth it to wake in the first place. He knew you could hear him. When his voice got too heavy, you often responded with a soft whimper, like you couldn’t bear his feeling sadness. It startled him the first time, and he’d been terrified that he’d woken you, but you just kept on sleeping in his arms.

This morning, his spirit felt light. He did talk to you as he often did, but today he focused mainly on how lovely you were. On how he couldn’t wait for you to wake up and look at him with your beautiful eyes. How he couldn’t wait to kiss you good morning and drink coffee with you. He scolded you a little for sleeping so late and making him wait so long to do these things for you, but then assured you that you were worth it. 

Finally, you let out a soft whine, rough with sleep, and pressed yourself a little more firmly against him. His heart surged in his chest. You were waking up. He called your name in a sing-song voice and kissed your neck. He knew there’d be at least a few minutes, now, where you laid there with your eyes half-open and growled at him that you were still sleepy but then beamed at him so sweetly. He kissed your cheek, and then you turned your face to him to offer up your lips, and he took them gladly. 

Slowly, you rolled onto your back and lifted your arms to wrap them around his neck even as he kissed you. For the longest time, you wouldn’t kiss him like this so early in the morning, and instead you yelped about your morning breath and ran to brush your teeth, but he loved this. He kissed you lazily. There was nowhere that either of you needed to be today. There was no pressing task hovering above your heads. If you so chose, and if he was very lucky, you could stay right here with him all morning, allowing him to enjoy you just like this.

He pulled back for just a moment and tried not to marvel at the adoration and love that shone so clearly in your eyes. He rested his forehead against yours.

He was so very, very lucky.


End file.
